


If I Say Hey and There Was No One There to Hear

by crowleyshouseplant



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 19:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2440634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowleyshouseplant/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asami writes Korra, pining for her return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Say Hey and There Was No One There to Hear

Asami still wrote Korra. Not everyday, like she had once thought she would, or regularly like she had aimed for—but often. 

She penned her letters, sealed them in crisp paper envelopes scented with flowers, and sent them to the South Pole. She imagined Korra reading them. She imagined Korra re-reading them. 

She imagined Korra putting them away unread. She imagined Korra reading them once and throwing them away.

She bit her lip, her hand faltering for a moment, before describing the new airships she was building, and slipping a blueprint inside so that Korra could really see it. 

After the letter was written, after she had finished her night time routine, after she stretched against her bed, blankets to the chin, eyes open and fluttering because she was so tired but she couldn’t sleep—she allowed herself to picture Korra.

Was her hair longer now? Did she still wear it the same way, the old familiar style?

Her eyes fell closed then, and she thought about Korra, the last time she had seen her. 

She should have pressed harder to accompany Korra to the South Pole. People who described Korra, who saw her striding confidently through the streets on foot or astride Naga, thought she was a people person, that she thrived on being around people, that she surrounded herself with people.

But Asami knew better. Had seen Korra sitting alone on cliff-sides too often, alone on the fringe of a crowded room, alone as she meditated, her eyes closed, Asami silent as she watched over her, so that nobody would interrupt her concentration, so that nothing bad would happen to her physical body while her spirit was elsewhere doing Avatar things.

She could follow Korra to the South Pole. She could say that business brought her there—if she dug hard enough, if she forged new connections, it wouldn’t even be a lie.

It could be true. It could be so true. I was on business, and I was in the area, and I thought I’d see you—how are you? How are you really?

And their eyes would meet, and Korra would say—

But Korra had told her not to come, and Asami rolled over, hands clutched in her blankets, eyes squeezed shut as her knees curled up against her stomach.

She woke with puffy eyes, lids heavy with fatigue, firmly putting Korra out of her mind so that she could concentrate on today’s business. So that she could do her job, and do it well.

Still—as she pushed her way through the throng of Republic City, her belly jumped when she saw flashes of blue cloth and blue eyes, when she saw long, dark hair pulled back—found herself running after them, only to feel the blush rising in her cheeks, her tongue stumbling against her teeth—I’m sorry, I’m sorry I thought you were someone else, a—a friend—”

She pressed herself against a wall and closed her eyes.

Korra wasn’t going to come back.

Korra was going to come back when she was ready.

One day, when she came back, a letter was waiting for her. It was from Korra.

After two years, Korra had finally written her back.

Asami shut herself in her room, the letter shivering between her trembling fingertips as she pulled off her gloves, nails painted jade-green, and broke the seal.

Something warm and hot and cold flashed somewhere in her stomach—don’t tell Bolin and Mako. It’s easier to tell you about this stuff.

Asami pulled out her chair and sat at her desk, letting the paper wilt against the wood, her chin braced against her bare fists, re-reading without really reading Korra’s letter, imagining it was her voice washing over her, as her fingers twitched against her palm, the pen a looming shadow.

Funny. After so many letters—she didn’t know what to say either.

Maybe—she shouldn’t respond. Maybe she should just—go—to her, to the South Pole, to Korra. Tell her, it would be okay or just simply squeeze her hand—I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

But Korra hadn’t asked her to come, had told her not to come, and she still needed to finish those plans—she had responsibilities too.

Asami counted the days until Korra was supposed to return to Republic City, barely registering the way her father’s face fell when he discovered that his daughter was not there as she tottered on the brink of Korra’s absence, wondering where Korra had gone, wondering if she had even received the other letters she had sent to her, that she could have seen Korra before this, that there was a chance that Korra was here, right now, in Republic City and hadn’t—

It was very hard to breathe. 

They said they’d find her, but Asami knew that Korra wouldn’t be found if she didn’t want to be found.

Her feet dragged heavily behind her. It was time to return home. It was time to look for Korra.

They looked for days. For a long time, for a short time.

Six months, any trails she could have left were cold.

For all they knew, she might not even be in the city anymore.

Asami pulled out the only letter she had received—already worn smooth, and soft, creases wrinkled like home, and she re-read it again, over and over, looking for some hint where Korra might be.

But she hadn’t talked to Asami about leaving and staying gone.

She rubbed the tears at her eyes angrily away.

She went out in the dark to get fresh air, to wander Republic City’s streets. turning down corners she had never gone because on the slim chance that Korra was here, Korra wouldn’t have gone somewhere she could run into her old life, into her friends, into Asami.

Asami remembered designing these streets, sketching them out on paper, and now they were hard and real and here. Her fingers dragged against the stone, coming away dirty and grimy so she wiped them against her trousers. 

On the edge of the city, people thronged the streets. They were talking about a fight, re-enacting it clumsily with ill-shaped fists and mistimed punches, laughing.

Fighters, victors by their manner of bearing, and the heavy clink of coin against their belt, raised their hands high, and the crowd cheered or booed or screamed.

Asami pushed her way through, until she saw the stragglers drifting away, maybe the losers, going home to nurse their wounds, to gird their loins to try again.

Vaguely, Asami wished she had arrived in time for the matches. She remembered watching the pro-bending games, the rush of adrenaline, gripping the edge of her seat, wincing when her team took a hit, cheering when they made a win.

She had never been in the ring, though she knew she could hold her own, and she vaguely wondered why.

Sometimes, even though she hadn’t been a bender, she had imagined herself being in the ring beside Korra, their uniforms matching, their eyes gleaming as they moved as one—

She shook her head. She hadn’t thought about that for a long time.

About to turn back, to return home, to meet up with Lin in the morning so they could organize a proper search—Asami paused when she heard a voice say, “Fine—it’s all yours.”

It sounded like—no, it couldn’t be. 

Asami saw her then- and she pushed after her, mouth splintering into—into what because that couldn’t be Korra. Her build was right, but her hair was cropped short and she wore green. 

Asami’s steps faltered, but she couldn’t stop following the mysterious woman. She didn’t walk like Asami remembered Korra walking—but that could be because of anything. Still recovering from the assault three years ago, a twisted ankle—

Asami followed her until they were out of Republic City, where the stars shone brightly, and trees grew thick together—not really a forest but if you pressed further out, you’d soon find yourself in one.

The figure sat then, her knees bent to her chest, arms wrapped around her shins—and that, that was Korra, and Asami’s mouth dried up, her throat collapsing in on herself, as she stumbled after.

"Korra?" she asked, finally managing to push the word out. "Korra?"

And then the woman she had been following turned around, her eyes blue, her face gaunt and tired and bruised and scraped, her mouth doing something that wasn’t hello (but wasn’t goodbye either), that wasn’t a smile (but wasn’t a sneer either), and Asami dropped to her knees, her hands reaching for Korra, but saw the brief shift away, and she let her hands drop to her sides, wooden.

"How did you find me?"

"I didn’t—I didn’t mean to," Asami said. "i just—you were supposed to meet us. Your father’s here. Bolin and Mako. The airbenders." 

Korra nodded. “Oh. That was tonight.” She sighed, let her cheek rest against her knees.

Her bruises looked even worse, one eye almost swollen shut. 

Asami wondered why she was not healing herself with waterbending—noticed that she did not carry a flask of water with her.

"Your hair’s so short. I barely recognized you." Asami said, then shook her head. What a stupid thing to say. Of course her hair was short. She had probably cut it—by the looks of it, had cut it herself. Perhaps that had been the point--to be unrecognizable. To not look like the Avatar anymore. 

Korra shrugged. “I cut it.”

Asami, still on her knees, shuffled closer to Korra. “Are you alright?”

"I’m fine," Korra said.

Not according to the letter she had sent. 

Asami didn’t know what to say. “Can I hug you?” she said, finally, remembering how warm Korra’s hand had been in hers that time so long ago.

For the first time, Korra raised her head, and nodded. One of her eyes was shaded in red, and Asami wondered how hard a hit she had taken. She flinched, wincing at the thought, as she folded her arms around Korra’s stiff shoulders, hiding her face in her neck, which smelled like Korra, so much like Korra, and Asami had to remind herself not to cry.

It wasn’t a warm hug, not like the hugs that the new Team Avatar had shared—but then, Korra’s head fell against her shoulder, and Asami palmed her skull, fingers running through her hair, so short now until her tangles were gone, until the strands flowed like water against her skin, until Korra wasn’t a bag of stiff muscle and hard bone, until she was sagged against her, her hands clasped around her back. 

Korra said something, but Asami didn’t catch it, muttered as it was, muffled against her body, words a mere hot breath against her skin—and, when she was still trying to decide whether she should ask Korra to repeat it, Korra clutched herself closer to her, and Asami pressed her mouth against her hair, kissing her there, trying not to think about whether Korra was going to disappear again or if she would return with her because she was here, right now, in her arms—dressed in green with her short, short hair.

**Author's Note:**

> For Ashley


End file.
